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  • Amy Shannon

Showcase: William P. Lazarus

William P. Lazarus was nominated as an Indie Author who deserves appreciation and acknowledgement of his work. I am pleased to present this author a showcase blog post.

Author Bio:

While still very young, Bill Lazarus decided to be a writer and has been writing ever since. Born in Portland, Me., he grew up in Akron, Ohio and has lived in Connecticut and now Florida. He holds a B.A. and an M.A. in journalism from Kent State (OH) University and an ABD in American Studies from Case Western Reserve (OH) University.

During his career, he has been a newspaper reporter, magazine writer/editor, advertising copywriter and writer/editor of NASCAR programs, among other jobs. He has won three international awards for stories and programs while working for International Speedway Corp. and was named 2000 Florida Feature Writer of the Year.

While at ISC, he detailed the first 100 years of racing in Daytona Beach in a book titled The Sands of Time: Celebrating 100 Years of Racing at Daytona Beach (Champagne, IL: Sports Publishing, Ltd., 2004.) He subsequently wrote a book titled Around the Turn, which described past challenges that NASCAR has faced as well as those coming up. It was published in 2016 by Bold Venture Press (Sunrise, Florida).

He has been published in hundreds of local, regional, state and national publications. Other published books include:

The Great Seer Nostradamus Tells All, Sunrise, FL, Bold Venture Press 2018

Noel: The Lore and Tradition of Christmas Carols, Daytona Beach: Halifax County, 2010

Comparative Religion for Dummies, New York: Wiley Press, 2008; with Mark Sullivan

CQI in the Classroom, Port Orange, FL: Cornesky and Associates, 1991; with Dr. Robert Cornesky

As a writing instructor, Bill has been teaching at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University, Kent State, Case Western Reserve, Cuyahoga Community College, the University of New Haven, Yale University and Daytona State College. A religious historian, he has also taught classes as part of Stetson (FL) University’s Continuing Education Department.

These days, along with his own compositions, he has been ghostwriting a variety of books for clients from around the world. He has completed a book on treating chronic pain, profiles of 45 modern women who have led countries, multiple novels and biographies.

Bill and his wife live in Ormond Beach, Florida. They have one daughter.

“The Interview”

Tell me two things about yourself that are separate from writing.

I am a nationally known religious historian and swim at least 60 minutes every morning.

Why do you write?

When I was 7, I learned about bylines in newspapers and decided to be a reporter. I taught myself to write and have never had any interest in doing anything else.

Brag about ONE accomplishment as a writer.

I won an international writing award in competition with major sports publications.

Name up to five people who inspire you

Sorry, no one. I don’t have heroes.

If you could sit down with anyone, living or dead, and have a conversation with, who would it be?

I would love to talk with Oscar Hammerstein II, who was such an incredible lyricist. I’d like to know how he got ideas. I have written songs, but nothing remotely close to his level.


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Chapter 1:

“Stop,” Perspectus shouted. His voice echoed like thunder. Startled, Longus looked at his slave. Welts created a pattern along his back. The crisscrossed lines oozed, causing blood to seep through the linen.

The priests turned. The one with red hands gaped while the faces of the others filled with anger. The Emperor seemed stunned, unsure what to do.

“I despise your solemn feast days, and I will not smell in your solemn assemblies; though you offer me your burnt-offerings, and your meat-offerings I will not accept them; neither will I regard the thank-offerings of your fat beasts. Take thou away from me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the melody of thy trumpets. But let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream,” Perspectus yelled.

He turned. His face was triumphant. People backed away, pushing against the bulwark created by so many others behind them. Cries of panic began to echo as the pipers continued their simple tunes.

“No, no, no,” Longus yelled at his slave. “Don’t do that.” He struck Perspectus’ left shoulder. His blow had no effect. The old man seemed filled with iron, as solid as any column.

“I delight not in the blood of bulls,” Perspectus continued as those near him continued to struggle to get away from him. Longus looked around wildly. He was becoming deserted. The litters were being carried away on a surging tied ebbing away from the altar. The priests were staring. One, hands carmine and flecked with intestines, looked deflated. The fire raged amid the confusion. The smell of burning meat carried in all directions, wafting in the breeze created by the fleeing spectators.

Desperately, Longus tugged at Perspectus, pleading with him. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Perspectus was unaffected. The old man was rigid, a tree unyielding to the threatening storm.

“God does not delight in the sacrifices of these creatures, as offered by such wicked hands and without faith in the blood and sacrifice of Christ. You have been superseded by Christ as the apostles have foreordained,” he screamed toward Nerva, who gazed back with a dazed expression.

“What are you doing?” Longus sobbed in desperation. The ritual was not over. It would have to be repeated. His slave had caused this disaster. “My god, my god,” he moaned. “No, no, no.” He sank to his knees as if kneeling before Perspectus. He saw only blackness. All was lost. His inspired dreams were nothing more than the ashes now drizzling around him. Longus felt so empty and deserted.

The soldiers sprung forward and grabbed Perspectus. They pinioned his arms.

“My God is with me,” he shouted. “Yeah though I walk through the valley of death, thou art with me,” he continued. “Shema…”

A soldier took his lance and ran it through the slave’s chest. Perspectus stared down at the shaft. A smile eased across his face, and he slumped forward. One soldier grabbed his long hair, jerking the body upright. With a sword and a powerful swing, another soldier cut off the old man’s head.

Bent over, splashed with blood, Longus could only stare at the ground. He could smell the bull being consumed by the flames. He heard the sound of the pipes playing a dirge. He felt complete emptiness as he slumped, isolated and exposed next to a dead body of his slave and four panting soldiers. He saw sandals in front of him and lifted his eyes to see Hyperion’s fierce glare.

“I knew you would grovel before me,” Hyperion said. “I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

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Final Thought …

Writing has been my entire life. All my works are infused with humor. I also may be the fastest one-fingered typist, timed at 60-80 words a minute.


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